


Warning: These 9 Mistakes Will Destroy Your Golden Age

by KS_Claw



Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, Modern human AU, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Nightmare Dork University, Rating Might Change, Vampire AU, and many more - Freeform, from silly to serious, what if's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KS_Claw/pseuds/KS_Claw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles, ranging from serious to silly, from what-if's to different AU stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A one night stand with results

**Author's Note:**

> So, to start with about the title: there will probably be more than 9 stories. I couldn't think of a proper name for a drabble collection myself, so I goofed off with a title generator until I found something I liked. As mentioned in the summary, this is going to be a collection of short stories written for Rise of the Guardians/Guardians of Childhood. Some are silly, some are serious, and some are based on the many, many Alternate Universes that have had their beginnings on Tumblr as a start. I hope you all will enjoy them ^^
> 
> First up, a Modern Human AU, where Kozmotis Pitchiner and my version of Lady Pitchiner (who I named Ebony).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Kozmotis Pitchiner/Lady Pitchiner  
> AU: Modern human AU/one night stand and falling pregnant au  
> Summary: Kozmotis and Ebony have always been pretty close, without being a couple.  
> This one was a request from batnerd-on-redbull on tumblr.

For all intents and purposes, Kozmotis and Ebony hadn't meant to end up in bed together. They were good friends, but different in a lot of ways. And even though people sometimes told them that they acted like a married couple, they just couldn't picture themselves as such.

So when they woke up together in bed one morning, sharing the mother of all hangovers and clear evidence of having spent the night together, they did the most sensible thing they could think of: They talked things over, and decided to just move onward, like simple, responsible adults. And besides, it wasn't as if either of them had been with a complete stranger, despite having been a bit too drunk to really know what was going on. No need to make things complicated.

Or at least it didn't, until two months later, when Kozmotis' job had him leave town for the following three months, while Ebony stayed and took care of her own things.

At first, she didn't think about it when she missed her period. Sometimes periods were irregular, it didn't mean something was wrong. And Ebony continued to think that, until her mother commented on that she was starting to eat a lot more at sudden. And really, did she have to do like her father and mix it with some of that awful sauce he liked as well? Why, one would think that she was pregnant or something!

Ebony had laughed at the comment, and yet something about those words had struck a chord. And she took a moment to think back. For all the drunken blur there had been that night, she was certain that she and Kozmotis had been careful... She remembered finding an empty condom wrapper, and its... contents among the sheets when she had cleaned up later.

 _Accidents happen_ , a small wicked voice told her. The same little voice made her buy the necessary items from the local drugstore. And book an appointment with the doctor, just to be on the safe side. All of that took place in the span of two weeks after Kozmotis had left for his job.

Monday on the third week, Kozmotis had met up early for his job, and was told by a secretary that he had an urgent message from a Miss Centaurii, who requested that he called her as soon as possible. Having nothing on his schedule for the day just yet, Kozmotis decided to do so, dialing Ebony's number on his phone, before he moved to sit down.

Ebony picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

_“Hey Ebs, it's me. I got your message. Is something wrong?”_

On her own end, Ebony was certain the phone would crack if she clutched it any tighter. She breathed in deep, deciding to just get it over with.

“Kozmotis, I'm pregnant. And I'm pretty sure you're the father.”

There was a loud **THUD** from the other end, followed by loud swearing, as Kozmotis not only missed the chair entirely, but also managed to spill his coffee on himself.


	2. Two exes meet at a wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tooth/Bunny.  
> AU: two miserable people meeting at a wedding au  
> Summary: Bunny and Tooth are both invited to their Exes wedding. One is the ex of the bride, the other is the ex of the groom. They hit it off in their own way.  
> Prompt request was for thebestworstidea on tumblr

They had been lucky with the wedding, really. An outdoor ceremony held in a park that belonged to the estate of Shalazar, with your variations of massive green lawns, the estate itself surrounded by thick woods and hedge mazes, and the occasional pond decorated with a statue or fountain.

And it was by one of these ponds that the party itself was being held, this one almost combined together with a smaller hedge maze, with no statue or fountain adorning it. The maze itself was enough, with a wide variation of roses and orchids surrounding the place, the summer evening heavy with their perfume, and the pond itself was completely still and blank like a mirror, perfectly reflecting the moon on its surface.

It would almost have been an inspiring sight, if Aster hadn't felt in such a gloomy mood. Where he was at, he could barely hear the music, the sound having been dulled by the tent it was being held in, along with the hedges surrounding him. The party was going on at full blast, and with the way things were going, Aster was pretty certain that things would be going on well until morning, after the cake was cut. _Or at least that's easy to assume_ , he thought to himself, as he absently chewed on a toothpick between his teeth.

God, what he wouldn't give for a cigarette right now.

“Heh, guess I'm not the only one who needed to get away for a bit.” A voice sounded. Aster looked up from where he was sitting on a marble bench, and raised a brow at the owner of the voice. She was a petite Indian woman, clad in a festive green and blue Sari, with gold jewelry to go with it. Aster on his part raised a brow, noticing how she, just like him, didn't seem like she was in the mood for a party. So he shrugged and moved over a bit on the bench, motioning for her to sit down if she wanted to.

The woman accepted the silent invitation, sitting down with a worn out sigh as she did so.

“So. Nice wedding so far, huh?” She asked absently. Again, Aster shrugged, idly worrying the toothpick between his teeth. They sat in quiet for a while after that, saying nothing, while listening to the distant thrum of the music from the wedding party, while crickets chirped idly somewhere.

“Do you smoke?” The woman asked suddenly, opening her purse as she spoke, and pulling out a packet of cigarettes, before glancing at him. Aster blinked, glancing at her before he snorted, the toothpick poking out in an almost stubborn angle.

“Not so much. Tryin' t' quit.” He said gruffly. “But I won't mind if you want to.” She smirked wryly in response, and seemed to think about it for a moment, before she with a sigh put them back in the purse, while shaking her head.

“I shouldn't either, really. Been trying to quit for ages, but it always feels like the wrong time, you know?” She snorted. “It's a bad habit to have anyway. Especially for a dentist.”

“I's a bad habit for anyone.” Aster rumbled in response, “and yet there always seem t' come a time, where somethin' happens and you jus' feel like you quit too soon.”

She laughed a bit at that, before shaking her head. “True... very true.” She chuckled, before she gave him a half-smile, offering her hand.

“I'm Toothiana.”

He returned the smile, accepting her hand and squeezing it lightly in response.

“Name's Bunnymund. Edward Aster Bunnymund. Ol' friend o' the bride.”

“Old friend of the groom.” Tooth replied, before her smile seemed to slowly disappear. Then she sighed, sitting so she had her elbows on her knees, while resting her head in her hands. They sat quietly like that for a bit, though the silence felt much heavier this time.

“I take it that Jack's th' guy who got away?” Aster asked suddenly. Tooth blinked, and then snorted slightly in response.

“Is it that obvious?” She asked in return, before she sighed again and straightened up a bit. “... Yeah. We used to date a few years back. I thought it would last forever, but... We were just too different.”

“Same with me an' Emily Jane.” Aster said with a nod. “I tried my best t' make it work.” He shrugged, frowning. “In th' end tho', i's sometimes best not t' hang on.”

“I guess.” Tooth replied, hugging herself slightly with a frown. “Doesn't mean I have to like it... I just hope that Jack and her will be happy.”

Aster snorted. “From what I've been tol', he's perfect for Emily Jane.” he said, and couldn't help but chuckle at the look he got from Tooth.

“Jack Frost? He can be so immature! He bounces around all over the place, and he's not very good with responsibilities!”

“Yeah well, EJ's quite pigheaded, which I c'n confirm she gets from her old man, an' she takes a lot of things too seriously.” He replied with a grin. “Like I said, he's perfect. He balances her out in a way I never could... an' I think that's why I think it'll work.”

Tooth snorted and rolled her eyes, but seemed placated at the thought. “Well... I don't really know her. But I hope they'll be happy.” She sighed, before she stood up, idly brushing her behind off, before looking to Aster.

“I'm going back to the party. Want to come?”

Aster shrugged, getting up himself. “Don't see why not. Night's still young, an' all. 'Sides, from what I've been told by EJ, Jack's up t' something with that cake, and I don't think I wanna miss it.”

“Knowing Jack, it'll be the talk of the party.” Tooth snorted. With that, the two of them left the hedge maze, heading back to the party, talking more on the way as they went.

And if Aster somehow later found a slip of paper with her phone number in his pocket the next morning? Well, he didn't really mind.


	3. Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy learns the hard way, that not everyone enjoys being flirted with in certain ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehhh, I don’t have much of an excuse for this one. At the time when I wrote this, I got in a bad mood because my school project at the time wasn’t behaving for me (Revit can be a pain in the ass). I’d had this story idea bouncing around in my head and ended up writing it to vent some frustration.

Bunnymund found Sanderson out in the gardens. The Dreamweaver was looking rather forlorn as he absently held a hand to his cheek, which was painfully adorned by a deep orange handprint. Bunnymund grimaced at the sight, and a part of him felt that perhaps he should feel a bit sympathetic for his friend, but at the same time, he was starting to feel the effect of the chocolate detoxing drinks he had been nursing all evening.

The Pooka sighed, crossing his arms and trying not to start tapping his foot.

“What happened, Sandy?” He asked. “Did you speak with the General, despite how I told you not to?“

Sandy gave him a dour look before he just nodded.

“And something went horribly wrong, didn’t it.”

Another nod. Rather than speaking out loud, the Star Pilot shaped his dreamsand into images, of three figures. Sandy was one, and Bunny recognized the other two as Lord and Lady Pitchiner. The Pitchiners were dancing and Sandy tapping his foot impatiently, until the couple finally parted, which the Pooka could only roll his eyes at.

“Really Sandy, I told you they were married. Why wouldn’t the General want to dance with his wife?”

The Star Pilot ignored him, and continued with the sand figures. When parted, the Lady Pitchiner looked to be speaking with some other female figures, while the General stood at a distance. The figure of Sandy finally caught his attention and with a few extra signs, Sandy explained to Bunnymund how he and the General had gone out here into the garden to get some privacy.

Bunnymund sighed. He could easily see where this was going. “And then you started to flirt with him, despite my warnings, didn’t you.”

Sandy puffed his cheeks up in frustration, not meeting the others eyes as he nodded again. _‘It’s been fine before._ ’ He signed. _‘Everyone always responds positively!’_

“But not this time, right?” The Pooka snorted. Sandy scowled, but flinched and held a hand to the bruise on his cheek.

 _’… No.’_ He finally replied.

The figures returned, showing how Sandy had been in full swing with flirting, using his dream sand to communicate with all kinds of flirtatious signs. The General’s movements showed how he was flustered, though Bunny couldn’t tell if it was because he liked the ideas of what Sandy offered, or if he had been embarrassed.

Then, the figure of Lady Pitchiner came walking, stopping in place when she saw Sandy and the General standing close together. Sandy spotted her first, and sent a curl of golden sand towards her, though the Lady waved it off aggressively. Her tiny figure stood rigid, and a series of angry symbols appeared above her head. Bunnymund could only chuckled slightly at the sight, specially when the General seemed to be shaken out of whatever daze Sandy had put him in with his dreamsand flirtations.

“Ahh, the Lady did not appreciate the attention that you were giving her husband, I take it? And when you made attempts to pay attention to her…”

The Star Pilot glowered at the Pooka. Above him, the figure of Lady Pitchiner stood stiff and angry, her arms crossed as she turned her back to Sandy. The General was stumbling, illustrating how he had been dazed, while Sandy was trying to use his flirtations on the Lady, but each of the flirtatious waves seemed to hit against some kind of invisible shield around Lady Pitchiner.

And then the figure of Sandy touched the Lady’s shoulder, leaning in and kissing her cheek. The Lady yanked away as though she had been bitten, turned around and **_slapped_**  Sandy. While there was no sound, Bunnymund could easily imagine the loud _'crack’_ there must have been, and ducked his head as he watched the figures. Sandy had flopped onto the imagined ground in stunned surprise, while the Lady had gone over to her husband and shaken in him lightly, before he seemed to shake off the dream sand flirtations. Then, he too seemed to stiffen up, getting the same angry symbols over his head as the Lady Pitchiner had, seeming to glare at Sandy before he turned to his wife, the symbols turning more upset. Not that Bunnymund could blame him, considering what his wife had walked in on. Finally, the Lord and Lady Pitchiner left Sandy, walking past him and disappearing in a shimmer.

Bunnymund twitched his nose before raising a brow at Sandy. “I’ll be straight with you, mate. That wasn’t the best of moves you made there. Got ‘em both pretty steamed, from the looks of it.”

 _'I just don’t **understand!** ’ _Sandy signed with a frustrated and also confused huff. _'The General didn’t mind my advances. He and I have spoken before, and he always seemed interested in learning about the stars… We were even talking about teaching him Star Speak.’_

“With very private, intimate lessons, I assume. Lessons that the Lady would have been involved in as well, if she hadn’t thought you a galah, and then told you to rack off.” The Pooka sighed. When Sandy said nothing, he shook his head. “Look, we can stand here all night, and have a chinwag about how much of a waste of time it was of you to crack onto the General is, and how your advances probably weren’t that welcome, but I know it would be no use. So how about we skip all that, and just go find a place with an open bar and an icepack for your cheek.”

For a moment, Sandy looked like he might object, but then he just gave a puff of dream sand in a sigh, and allowed the Pooka to lead him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on Bunny’s slang:  
> Galah - Rude person (”you are a galah” = “You are a rude person.”)  
> Chinwag - casual chat with someone  
> Rack off - Leave, you are not wanted here  
> crack onto - to romantically pursue someone


	4. Decisions decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, a Tsar has to make some hard decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed something to distract myself, and found this in my drafts. A vague attempt at my very silly [“Wee Free Boogeymen”](http://ksclaw.tumblr.com/post/108769882577/so-i-was-reading-the-wee-free-boogeymen-drabble) idea from a while back. I’m not sure what to do with it, so the usual goes out that if anyone else feel inspired, then by all means go nuts.

“Oh Stars above, that dreadful man is back again!”

Tsar Lunanoff steeled himself, resisting the urge to scowl at the sound of his wife’s irritated tone, before he looked up at her.

“Am I to assume, that we are speaking of Lord Pitchiner, my dear?”

The Lady Tsarina glared at her husband, while she pulled her hands away from the curtains, that she had parted only moments before, brushing them idly against the skirts of her dress as if trying to wipe off something disgusting she had touched.

“You know perfectly well that it is. I am certain you can hear the _roaring_ from where you sit.”

Oh yes, Tsar Lunanoff wanted to say. He could hear the ‘roaring’ of the General’s laughter quite well. That was the problen with Star Stone, which the palace was built of. It was very practical with the way it would shine even at night, but the way it was made did that it also caught sound very well, sometimes making loudly spoken words outside seem as if someone was standing next to you. The Tsar’s forefathers had made it a rule of etiquette to speak in soft voices.

The Golden General had never been much of a follower of the rules. None of his people had ever really been, for that matter.

The Tsarina scoffed at the noises once more, though it soon turned to a sound of distress when she heard the sound of a baby crying. “Oh _wonderful_ , now he has gone and woken Mimmy!” She exclaimed, before she hurried off. The Tsar only sighed, setting down the pen he had been writing with earlier, and getting up from behind the desk. He’d best go meet with Kozmotis, before the man got it into his mind to get into a fist fight because someone looked at him wrong by accident.

Or worse, decided to raid the palace’s wine cellars again.

You wouldn’t think that a man who had lost his wife and daughter only a year ago would behave like this. But, the Tsar thought as he made his way down a flight of stairs, neither he nor his people had ever been what most people of the Constellation would consider 'normal’.

The Mac Fir people of the forest planet of Teir Nir Nog were known as a race of fierce, proud warriors. They had been a valuable asset to the defenses of the Constellations, and it’s Golden Army for several generations, known for their unending courage, their fierce skills with swords or archery, and their ways of rallying the troops. Kozmotis Pitchiner had been one of the chief warriors of his tribe alone, and was the pride of his home planet with being one of the first to be made the General of the Golden Army.

There was just one small problem.

The Mac Fir were also known as the most brutal savages one could imagine, with any soldier mostly refusing to take orders from anyone who wasn’t a clansman, every single one of them getting into a fight without needing much of an excuse (hell, on their own planet it was their version of socializing), and finally practically infamous for being brutal drunkards. On top of all this, they liked to combine all of this in battle, making them the most unorganized, brutal fighters in all of the universe, who would sometimes end up fighting their own comrades rather than the enemy. Oh the rest of the Constellations had tried to reign in this behavior like giving them responsibility with rankand well-earned (albeit skeptically so) lands. But it only seemed to encourage the Mac Firs even more.

Sometimes, the Tsar thought as he finally made it to the main courtyard, it was a miracle that they had won the war against the shadows at all. The Mac Fir might just as easily have been on the side of the Nightmare Men in the first place, but the only reason they hadn’t had simply been because the  Tsar’s great-great–great grandfather back in the day had offered them access to the best brewed whiskey this side of the Horse Head Nebulae. They had considered it a cheap price to pay back then, but oh Tsar Lunanoff sometimes wondered if it had really been worth it.

His thoughts were cut off by a sudden, bellowing laugh, right before he was grabbed by a pair of massive arms and practically flung around while caught in a tight embrace. It was only when he was certain he was about to retch, that he was put down, and even then he was nearly knocked off his feet when General Pitchiner slapped him on the back as part of his enthusiastic greeting.

The Golden General stood almost seven feet tall, with a crimson mane of hair standing almost like a flame, which was a sharp contrast to his deep blue skin, and sharp, grey eyes. Despite having a willowy figure, he was almost insanely strong, and the Tsar knew from experience that the Mac Fir could bend a star sword in half, just as easily as he could wield it.  

“Ye summoned me, Tsarovich?” The other chortled. Tsar Lunanoff coughed awkwardly, straightening up as he did so. If only the man would wear something other than a damn kilt, the rough greeting might not have been so awkward for the Tsar.

“That I did, General. If you would come with me to my office, so we can speak there.”

 _‘And for Stars sake, I hope he is wearing underwear under those things.’_ He thought furiously, as he made his way up the stairs with the General following behind him. 

——————–

“Dear.” The Tsarina asked carefully. “Are you sure it was a good idea to assign the General to guard the Shadow Prison?” 

Tsar Lunanoff was sitting with his eyes closed, feeling a headache working it’s way into his head, starting at the base of his skull. He sighed wearily at his wife’s question.

“Truth be told, it was more of a desperate decision.“ He finally said. “The General has been getting rather disorderly. And by that I mean even by Mac Fir standards.” He grimaced, “hopefully, standing guard at the prison will cool him down, if only for a little.”

“ _’Cool down’_ a Mac Fir?” The Tsarina asked with a raised brow. “Are you listening to yourself?” She sighed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. “What are his own people saying?”

“The Kelda of his clan did warn me, that it might not work.” Tsar Lunanoff replied. “Something about how the loss of family can light a fire of rage within even the most meekest of Mac Fir. But she gave me her blessing, if only because she agreed that it’s important that someone  watches the gates to the Shadow Prison.” He grimaced. “We will see, I suppose.” 

“Famous last words.” His wife added ominously.


	5. Snapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, here I go again with one of my “What if” thoughts. In this case, based on some of the “Pitch the completely irredeemable Nightmare King” stuff. This is one of those things that has been plaguing me, so I needed to get it out of my head. Maybe a part one of something.

Guilt is an awful motivator. It is a constant, tiny nagging voice, that can build up into a sonorous bellow if you let it. And when you don’t allow yourself time to grieve, it deafens everything else. Especially the voices of concerned friends, colleagues or loved ones in general. (His wife and child were his world, and now his world is broken, why does everyone expect him to just move on? They don’t, but guilt and grief are experts at twisting such truths.)

The Tsar allows him to take some time off. He practically orders him to, really, but Kozmotis can’t bring himself to care. He has a job to do, he has to make certain that no one else will ever be hurt by the Shadows ever again.

In the beginning, no one thinks of his actions, of how he mercilessly attacks each pirate ship they come across. They know how he lost his family, how his wife and daughter were his world. His crew, still sailing with him after that terrible night, remember the grief that he only revealed when the last Dream Pirate lay dead on the deck of his ship.

But they are also veteran soldiers, and the oldest of them remember other battles, wars on other planets where even the bravest of soldiers were not driven mad by fear, but by grief. They remember how those soldiers would drive themselves into a frenzy because they had no one to come home to, because the very beings of Fear itself had taken it all from them. 

The difference is, that these soldiers did not have the power of a General.

When some of these veterans follow General Pitchiner into battle, however, they start to wonder if they are trying to defeat the Fearlings, or trying to protect the General from himself.

Hope is a fragile thing, and when it is declared that the Shadow Prison is to be built, the soldiers dare to look at one another and _hope_ , that perhaps knowing these creatures being sealed away will being their General the peace that he needs, that they know he longs for.

General Kozmotis Pitchiner cares not for the news.   
———

Of course no one thinks about it in the beginning when the General continues to attack the Fearlings in a manner that kills them all. They have been at war for so long, having to get used to the thought of capturing, rather than killing, is a difficult one. The first time they capture a ship full of Fearlings alive is considered just as much of a victory as any other. The veterans remember, however. They remember the time before the massacre, of how the General would look at the Fearlings with pity, how he would treat them with kindness and respect, despite their own sneers and curses.

Now he looks at their prisonors as he looked at the Dream Pirates that night after what has been so long ago now. 

There is death in his eyes, and it puts the veterans on their guard.

It is a long journey to the Prison of Shadows, and some of the soldiers are new recruits. Accidents are bound to happen, and this time is no exception.

The captive Fearlings are found dead one morning. General Pitchiner stands among the bodies, their black blood covering him, soaked into his clothes, his weapon, even his hair. When asked, he simply says they were trying to make an escape, and he got there in time to prevent it.

No one says anything. The report states the exact same words as the general: Prisoners tried to escape, and they were executed as a result. 

No one questions it outside the ship. 

Amongst themselves however, the veterans talk. The General is not the first to break in this manner, and his men vow to make certain that nothing else will happen. They have their orders from the Tsar, orders that can only be ‘ignored’ for so long, before something dreadful happens.

The General is a good man. He just needs to be reminded of it.


	6. For the sake of survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare Dork University/Fallout New Vegas crossover: Pitch Black was ready to die in that grave he had been buried alive in. Some higher powers have a different idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be a bit difficult to explain if you don't know what's going on. You can read all about NDU [here](http://mira-eyeteeth.tumblr.com/NDU) just to make it easier, and if you know Fallout New Vegas, then you know the story there. I love both things, and I decided to do a crossover.
> 
> I also have a habit of playing rather recklessly in FNV, but I think most people do that.

_”The truth is… the game was rigged from the start.”_

Those were the last words Pitch heard, which was followed shortly by an explosion that made his ears ring, a bright light filling his vision, a pain ringing through his skull… and then everything went dark.

He felt like he was floating in a void. He was weightless and drowsy, and truth be told, he wouldn’t mind just falling asleep in this darkness and never waking up again…

“Are you frikking _**KIDDING ME**_ ** _!?_** ”

The voice startled him out of his daze, and Pitch tried blinking against the darkness before he was suddenly grabbed by the front of his shirt and shaken furiously by… himself? A self that was looking quite pissed off.

His doppelganger looked strangely older, clad in black robes that camouflaged him against the darkness. His teeth were bared, and his eyes narrowed in cold-blooded fury as he snarled at the courier.

“Of ALL the incompetent, lousy, idiotic copies of me, you had to get yourself offed _OVER A FUCKING POKER CHIP!?_ ”

 _A what-now?_ Pitch thought groggily, finding it hard to focus as he was shaken about. His doppelganger snarled and swore at him, and somewhere else in the darkness, he thought he could hear laughter.

“Do you _HEAR_ them?” The other Pitch snarled, “how they are finding this all so _FUCKING_ hilarious? I have never felt so humiliated in my entire existence!” He stopped shaking the courier, if only because he was trying to catch his own breath, doing so through furiously gritted teeth. Then, he seemed to start at something, and frowned.

“So… You’re not completely dead. That thick skull of yours must have kept you alive.” He scoffed, releasing Pitch and sending the courier stumbling back, as the robed doppelganger stroked thoughtfully at his own chin.

“… This could work.” He muttered, “you’re getting another chance. And I have to make certain to use that to its fullest.” He narrowed his eyes. “But until now, you have also been too… careful.” He snorted in disdain. “Seeking what you assumed were the safest jobs… You’ve only ever travelled with those ridiculous caravans.” He scowled ferociously at that. “All because you are a _coward._ ”

The courier managed a weak glare. “You don’t know what it’s like…” He managed.

“I know Fear.” The other retorted, “and yours is utterly pathetic!” He scowled. “Fear of life itself… A rarity, but an annoyance.” He narrowed his eyes. “I almost hate to do this, but it seems like I’m going to have to take a hint from that infuriating Cossack. You need to see things through new eyes.”

“You mean eyes that are full of wonder?” A deeper voice rumbled behind the robed doppelganger in amusement. “That shouldn’t be too hard… I know a spell that might help. If you will allow my assistance, dear…”

The doppelganger scoffed, crossing his arms. “I haven’t got much choice, but I am more than happy with this exception.”

The deeper voice laughed, and Pitch gasped when he suddenly felt a giant hand grabbing him and picking him up, and bringing him face to face with what could only be the owner of the deeper voice. The giant bared his teeth in a sharp grin.

“You will be fun to watch, I think.” He purred. “It’s not often that we’ve had to remove fear from someone.” He narrowed his eyes in wicked glee. “We have so much more fun _filling_ them with it.”

“Get on with it, you _oaf!_ ” The doppelganger snarled, earning him a chuckle from the giant. “Yes dear,” he purred, and a massive claw reached up, tracing signs in the air that glowed for a moment, before they surged out and seemed to slam into Pitch’s head. He jerked and gasped, feeling as though something was digging into his head with vicious claws… He didn’t even notice the giant setting him down, until he stood groggily in front of the doppelganger again, his whole body screaming in agony, while the other gave him an unimpressed glower.

“You are going to live,” he said coldly. “And I am going to make certain you stay that way. You won’t feel fear in the same way… But I am certainly going to keep you from behaving less like the complete idiot you’ve been up until now.” He bared his teeth in a snarl.

“Time to wake up and start living!” And he stepped forward, giving the courier a hard shove, sending him into a blinding light that filled his senses to the brim…  
————-

The first thing he sensed, was the feeling of something hard clamped down around his shoulders, as he was pulled upwards. Grit and dirt fell off from around him, and Pitch suddenly felt as if he had almost suffocated. He gagged and began to cough violently, his rescuer pulling him back until he was completely stretched out on the ground.

All he remembered seeing was the moon. It looked so big, and so bright… and then a large figure loomed above him, seeming to lean closer… It seemed to say something, but Pitch didn’t, or couldn’t hear what it was. He barely felt the other lift him up, before he had passed out again.

——————

“So, darling,” Pitchiner rumbled in amusement, “how do you think that little _mailman_ is going to handle himself?”

“He’s a _courier_ , not a mailman. There’s a difference.” Pitch muttered dourly. “And that’s for me to find out, I suppose.” He scowled. “He’s too old for me to have a direct influence, unless he does something ridiculous with some of those wacky drugs they have invented in this world. Or if he finds himself in a situation, where it is impossible to not be afraid.”

“There’s plenty of those.” Pitchiner helpfully pointed out. “Though it depends on where you look.”

“We’ll see.” The other replied. “For now, I’ll be happy enough if he can track down that checker-suited bastard who tried putting him in the ground in the first place.” His scowl turned into a grin at that. “After all… all that leftover fear needs to go somewhere. So why not use it to induce a bit of good old fashioned paranoia?”

Pitchiner responded with a broad grin.

“I do so love it when you get in a vindictive mood, dear.”


	7. going away to war au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare Dorks University AU: "Going away to War AU" requested by plush-anon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually, these guys are in a very modern setting, but I aimed for something that was more pre-laptop era, though I'm not aiming for any specific wars.

“You don’t have to wait for me.”

Pitch looked up from the typewriter, frowning at the others words. “Excuse me?”

Pitchiner was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, clad in just a pair of pants and a wife-beater. He had been spending the past few hours packing his suitcase, though it mostly consisted of clean underwear and socks, and what would be his new uniform in the army.

From his worn expression, however, you would think that he had been at it for days, instead of just a few hours. And there was a look in his eyes that looked grim, Pitch thought. Like he didn’t expect that he was going to come back. A natural thought, really, when you were a man going off to war.

“I said, you don’t have to wait for me.” Pitchiner then said. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Pitch felt himself bristle at those words. Just who the hell did he think he was? He scowled, and looked back down on his typewriter, the machinery showing his anger in the angry rattling it made.

“I think I am perfectly capable of making that decision myself, _thank you!_ ” Pitch growled, when he at one point paused to push the platen back into place, before he gave Pitchiner a nasty look. “Leave me to my free will in that regard, if you please!” With that, he returned to his typing.

Pitchiner frowned, but rather than giving a snarky remark, he sighed.

“I just don’t want to see you end up like Piki.”

The typing stopped, and Pitch closed his eyes before drawing in a deep breath, and letting it out slowly.

“I may be his twin,” he said coldly, “but I am not my brother. It was his own damn fault, that Jack decided to leave. And we have already agreed on that it was no fault of yours, that you got drafted into the damn army! We can’t all be perfect specimens.”

Pitchiner frowned. “I know, but-”

“ _But_ nothing!” Pitch snapped. “We have all made our decisions. And you do not get to make them for me! If or when I do get sick of waiting, **_IN MY OWN DAMN TIME_** , you can get a damn _Dear John_ letter like everybody else!” With that final, hard note in his tone, he glared down at the typewriter and went back to work.

Pitchiner stood silent for a bit, watching the other typing away. He eventually turned around and went back into the bedroom to finish packing.

When they went to bed that night, Pitch was the one to initiate sex, and Pitchiner responded to it gladly. It varied between rough and tender, the both of them leaving as many marks as possible on each other as they could, the two of them clinging to one another in the afterglow when they were finished.

It somehow made it a little easier to part ways the next morning, when Pitchiner had to leave for the army.

He would wait, he decided, as he climbed up into the army truck that was waiting for him. Pitch had never been dishonest about his promises. If a certain kind of letter should show up, then that was that. No use in dwelling on it, when it might not even happen.


	8. Wandering the Mojave (NDU/FNV AU) part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rise of the Guardians/Fallout New Vegas/ NDU - Nightmare Dork University

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this turned into a multitude of assorted crossovers of a sort. And there are a couple of people who might not understand what’s going on, so here’s a few minor key notes: 
> 
> First of, I’ve been wanting to do a sort of Fallout New Vegas AU for a long time now. A bunny bit me, and I decided to try and write the idea out.
> 
> Some of the things mentioned are things that take place in DLCs that you can get for Fallout New Vegas. One is called Honest Hearts, and the other is Dead Money. There’s two more, Old World Blues and The Long Road, but I’ll only be mentioning the latter in this fic.
> 
> Somewhere along the line, the NDU guys decided they wanted their own parts in this story. So… we’ll see how it turns out. While we’re at it, I’ve replaced a few characters here and there with. See if you can guess who and where.  
> The first part is told from Pitchiner’s POV.

Being a Courier was supposed to be a relatively safe job. That was the only reason that Cossimo Pitchiner had let his boyfriend start doing it in the first place. Anyone could bring out a package or a letter, and it was _safe_ with easy, well earned money. And for a while, it had been fine. Sure, Pitch traveled far and wide around what remained of the states, but it was never in a way so that Pitchiner ever felt he had to worry about him. They kept in touch through the different NCR comlinks or Courier stations that there was access to, and for a time that was enough.  
  
But then… things happened. With the Legion causing trouble at Hoover Dam, Pitchiner was relocated to New Vegas. He wasn’t certain that Pitch had gotten his last message, because there hadn’t been any news for ages, and his orders did that he couldn’t stay behind. All he could do was leave a message, and hope for the best. The only odd assurance that he had, was in the form of Pitch’s cousin Proto, who was a member of the local Followers of the Apocalypse. Despite his aloof, and at times rather creepy nature, Proto was somehow one of the few people that Pitchiner could say that he truly trusted. In his own weird manner, the Follower could tell Pitchiner, that Pitch was a survivor, and he was certain that they would meet him again sooner or later.  
  
Rumors began to circulate through assorted circles, however. The otherwise soothing voice of Mr. New Vegas told stories of things that seemed to be changing in the Mojave, though one story that seemed to stick out the most, was how a package courier had been found in the little town of Good Springs, after having been shot in the head. The good news in this part, was how the courier was said to be recovering.   
  
The story gnawed at Pitchiner, to the point where he at one point almost got in a fight with another NCR soldier. He had to spend a few days behind bars in order to cool off, but when he was let out, there awaited him a pleasant surprise.  
  
Pitch Black had found his way to New Vegas. In some strange way, he had managed to get the attention of the main man of New Vegas himself, the mysterious Mr. House, and had gotten residence at the Lucky 38.  
  
Their reunion involved a lot of angry yelling, mostly from Pitchiner’s side when he found out that Pitch was in fact the Courier mentioned in the newscast, who had been shot in the head. The bullet scar was right at the hairline, and had only been discovered because Pitch had lost the desperado hat he’d been wearing when Pitchiner tackled him, as he came out of the Lucky 38.  
  
It didn’t help that Pitch insisted on that he was still going to work as a courier.   
  
“You are _not_ going back out there!” Pitchiner had snarled. “You’ve almost gotten yourself killed! And more than once if what I’ve been hearing on the radio is to be trusted! What the _hell_ were you thinking!?”  
  
The Pitch he remembered would have sneered and made a scoffing comment, about how apparently he must not have been thinking at all, judging from Pitchiner’s irrational behavior.  
  
The Pitch before him now however, regarded him with just an annoyed glare.  
  
“Well for one thing, it’s all just been a part of the job. Besides, I don’t think you’ve started earning more since we last met?” Pitchiner scowled at that.  
  
“That doesn’t matter, Pitch! The Mojave Wasteland-”  
  
“Was dangerous long before you and I came along, and it will continue to be so, long after we’re dust.” Pitch replied drily, waving him off. “And like it or not, I am under contract, Pitchiner, same as you.”  
  
“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean!?”   
  
“I lost the package for Mr. House.” Pitch said with deathly calm. “And while Mr. House has been generous enough to allow me time to get it back, I still need to earn caps in some way, and that means, you know, _work._ Which also means taking whatever job that one can get. Besides…” He shook his head. “If I can get shot in the head and survive _that_ , then I think I’ll be just fine.”  
  
And with that, ignoring any further protests that Pitchiner might have had, Pitch left for an a job in a caravan that was heading for Utah.  
  
As it was, Pitchiner only really had one thing he could do. When he was off-duty, he got drunk and vented his frustrations to Proto, who just smiled and nodded, and then waited until Pitchiner was nursing a hangover, to properly give his own opinion.  
  
“They do say that people who survive getting shot in the head, have a tendency to change their personality.” He said thoughtfully, as he mixed up some ghastly hangover cure for the NCR soldier. “I mean, let’s be honest. Before the job from Primm, do you remember Pitch just randomly deciding on going for a job as a _caravan guard?_ ”  
  
“Not that I know of…” Pitchiner grumbled. “He usually took the jobs that he’d get the most caps for the fastest.” He sighed in frustration, glowering idly as Proto set down the glass with some kind of disgusting, green concoction in front of him.  
  
“What should I do, Proto? It’s not like I can lock him up.”  
  
“Let it depend on how things have gone when he comes back.” Was all Proto could say, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “I have a feeling that we’ll be in for some surprises.”  
  
And they were. A couple of months later, Pitch returned, completely changed from before. There was something about him, as he told about his adventures, from the caravan being attacked, to the war he had gotten involved in between the New Canaanites and the White Legs. And along with it, the strange story he had come across through ancient terminals, from what had been a survivor of the time when the bombs fell.  
  
That was where he had gotten hold of the outfit he now wore. It looked like a standard issue Desert Ranger combat armor, but it felt like there was something more to it. Possibly the history behind it, Pitchiner thought idly. The outfit… suited Pitch in a way that Pitchiner couldn’t describe. But he tried not to think about it, when he later managed to get the other man with him to bed, kissing and biting and marking him as his and his alone. It was only the few strange companions that Pitch had made friends with (including, in some strange way, Proto), that kept Pitchiner from causing a racket that could have woken the dead from before the fallout itself.  
  
It was so strange, he thought, as he and Pitch lay together in the dark of the hotel room afterward, with Pitch having fallen asleep, exhausted from his ordeals and the no doubt mind-blowing sex. Months ago, Pitch had been an independent individual, but he had never been this daring, or this adventurous. The bullet had truly changed him… but Pitchiner couldn’t decide if it was a good, or a bad thing.  
  
As they lay together, Pitchiner frowned when he noticed the doo-dad on Pitch’s wrist, the weird thing called a Pipboy.  He huffed, absently fiddling with it in an attempt to see if he could take it off somehow (because it had to be uncomfortable to sleep with, even though Pitch seemed incredibly used to it.)  
  
Instead, he managed to get the radio turned on, and Pitchiner raised a brow when instead of hearing the familiar, peaceful drone of Mr. New Vegas, he found himself listening to a pleasant, young male voice.  
  
 _“Has your life taken a turn? Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind? If so, the Sierra Madre Casino, in all its glory, is inviting you to begin again. Come to a place where wealth, excitement and intrigue await around every corner. Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort, make new friends, or rekindle old flames. Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert under clear star-lit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our villa rooftops. Countless diversions await: Gamble in our casino, take in the theater, or stay in one of our exclusive executive suites that will shelter you and cater to your every whim. So if life’s worries have weighed you down, if you need an escape from your troubles, or if you just need an opportunity to begin again, join us, let go, and leave the world behind at the Sierra Madre grand opening this October… We’ll be waiting.”_

Pitchiner felt an odd dread creep into his stomach.


	9. Wandering the Mojave (NDU/FNV AU) part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is part 2. I mentioned a bit of the other two DLCs in this one, Old World Blues and The Lonesome Road.   
> The ‘silly’ part that Proto is worried about is mainly getting involved in either of these things. And if you feel Pitch’s behavior is weird, consider it being an after effect of having been shot in the head >3> it wouldn’t be the first time someone got a major personality change from minor brain damage. Anywhoo, enjoy!

_Pitch could feel the heavy collar around his neck, like it was made of heavy stone instead of metal. He could hear the wind as it moaned through the streets of the Villa, but aside from that, it was quiet among the ghostly buildings._  
  
 _For now._  
  
 _He had to get away, get a move on. He took one step, and instantly, the collar began to beep. The courier swore under his breath, taking a step back and looking around for the source. There, one of the many radio speakers that had been put up in this cardboard town so many years ago, its display a glaring white through the dark. The holo-rifle was quickly shrugged off his shoulder, he took aim and in a frazzling blast, the shot hit the speaker._  
  
 _Instead of being blast to pieces however, the speaker’s display turned red, letting out a shrieking warped version of music. Somewhere far off, there was the sound of a bell, and above him, he could see fireworks blasting in the sky with crimson and white colors, pinwheels and streamers, all of them lighting up the streets…_  
  
 _And the eerie black figures of the original inhabitants._  
  
 _ **'No! This wasn’t supposed to happen!’** Pitch thought. A knife spear was thrown at him from the crowd, cutting the fabric of the Sierra Madre security armor, and the skin of his shoulder underneath. He hissed and spun around, taking off running, ignoring the intense beeping of the collar as he ran, knowing that there had to be some kind of safe zone out of range of the damn speaker._  
  
 _A hand with a bear-trap fist attached swung out at him and clipped him in the jaw. He staggered, but ignored the spinning sensation that it left in his head, taking off running as the beep intensified. He remembered this area, he was near a safe zone and then he could take a short cut which would lead him back to Vera’s fountain. The Ghost People, even in their current crazed state would leave him alone there._  
  
 _As he ran up a flight of stairs however, the steps that were weathered from age and the toxic fumes of the Red Cloud crumbled underneath him. Pitch cried out as he fell, tumbling down amongst rusted beams and pipes, flashing lights and the Red Cloud, the toxic fumes forcing its way through every bit of his body, even as he was falling. Choking him, killing him, making him rot from the inside…_  
  
———–  
He landed on the floor with a hollow thud, completely tangled up in the sheets of the bed. Delirious with terror, Pitch fought his way out of the smothering fabric, gasping and whimpering like a small child.  
  
Strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders, making Pitch cry out with fright, and he instinctively took a swing, expecting to hit the rubbery surface of a gas-mask and being stared down by the glowing, green goggles of a Ghost Trapper or Hunter.  
  
What he instead got, was a sharp grunt from Pitchiner at the solid smack he got across his nose, but which the other ignored in favor of sitting down on the floor with the courier, and holding him there in a solid grip in his massive, strong arms.  
  
“You’re alright. You’re _safe._ Calm down.” He murmured soothingly, rubbing his back gently as he did so.  
  
For a long moment, Pitch was staring at him with his eyes still wide in fright… Then his shoulders slowly slumped, the courier allowing the NCR soldier to pull him closer into his embrace, while he let out a shuddering sigh.  
  
Pitchiner frowned and looked to the bedroom door as it opened, letting in a ray of light from the corridor. Rose of Sharon Cassidy and Proto stood there, both in their respective PJ’s. Cass looked worried, while Proto had his usual aloof expression.  
  
“Is everything alright?” Cass asked. “We could hear you stir around and cry out.”  
  
“I- It’s fine. I’m alright.” Pitch managed, his voice slightly muffled from being pressed against Pitchiner’s shoulder. “Just… I had a bad dream.” He pushed himself away a bit, running a hand over his face.   
  
“Just a bad dream; I’m alright now.” He repeated. Pitchiner gave him a skeptical look, but said nothing.  
  
“It’s the middle of the night, and we’ve got the Black Mountain to head for in the morning. We all better get back to sleep.” Proto said calmly. “It won’t do us of any good, if we aren’t fully rested.”   
  
“ _Ha._ No way to rest in the Villa.” Pitch said under his breath. _Everything outside the Sierra Madre Casino had been far too saturated by the Red Cloud,_ he thought to himself.  
  
“Did you say something?” Cass asked. Pitch jerked, as if she had struck at him, then quickly shook his head.  
  
“Just talking to myself,” he said with a weary smile, waving her off. “Sorry for waking everyone up. ‘Night.”   
  
With mutters and worried looks in his direction Cass left. Proto and Pitchiner however, stayed behind.  
  
“I have some sleeping pills, if you wish?” Proto suggested. “I can guarantee that they would work.”  
  
Pitch blinked, and for a moment, he was tempted to say that yes, he would love  to have some pills. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of nightmares of Red Clouds and ghostly glowy-eyed black figures and beeping explosive collars, and of being unable to wake up from them.  
  
Instead, he shook his head slowly. “…I don’t think that would be a good idea right now. Thanks anyway.” He muttered. Instead, he pushed himself free from Pitchiner’s embrace and got up.  
  
“Are you going to be alright?” Pitchiner asked with a worried frown. “This is the fifth nightmare you’ve had since you came back from… wherever it is you went.”  
  
“I’ll be _fine!_ ” Pitch grumbled impatiently. “I’m going to the workshop room. I need to tinker with something.” Ignoring the worried, and slightly hurt look from Pitchiner, he pulled on some clothes and then pushed past Proto. His cousin raised a brow, pursing his lips thoughtfully.  
  
“I think we need to keep an eye on my dear cousin. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was on the verge of doing something _silly_.” With that, he headed back to his own room.  
  
Pitchiner frowned, but said nothing. He could only agree with the Follower however. Ever since Pitch had come back from following the Sierra Madre broadcast, he had been… _twitchy_ was the best way to put it. He didn’t always have nightmares, but he had begun to talk a lot in his sleep, murmuring about someone called Piki and Frost. When Pitchiner had asked him one morning who those had been, the courier had looked away.   
  
“Someone who died a long time ago.” He said quietly. And that was all he had been willing to tell, and Pitchiner didn’t try to make the other talk about it. The other time he had tried, Pitch had nearly bitten his head off and pretty much kicked him out of his room. And despite how Pitch was very slim, he had begun to develop some serious muscle from his travels across the Mojave.  
  
Pitchiner was so tempted to go after him. Instead, with a tired sigh, he lay back down on the bed. Everyone kept weird hours in this tower, and Pitch was really no exception, so it wouldn’t really be of any disturbance to the other residents. Rather than falling back asleep, Pitchiner just lay there in quiet contemplation for a while, until his own exhaustion made him doze off once more.   
  
In the room that had pretty much become a workshop for everyone who needed to do maintenance on their weapons, Pitch fiddled idly with his Pipboy’s radio station. As he did so, one dial hit Radio New Vegas, just as Mr. New Vegas introduced; _“B-b-b-b-Bing Crosby reminding us of those times, when you absolutely have to kiss the person you love, Something’s Gotta Give; Up next.”_  
  
Pitch sighed and sat back, keeping the music on a low volume, as he hummed along to the chorus. In his mind, he could still see the old, empty theater of the Sierra Madre Casino and the glowing figure of Dean Domino on the stage, swaying and swinging to an invisible band as he sang to a just as invisible audience:  
  
 _“Something’s gotta give_  
 _Something’s gotta give_  
 _Something’s gotta give…”_  
  
The song made him think of the three companions he had been forced to leave behind in the Sierra Madre. Dean Domino, the ghoul imprisoned by his own greed. Dog and God, the Super Mutant with two minds now merged into one.   
  
And Overland, a young man who had been given the voice of an angelic young man that for 200 years had existed as nothing but a luring siren in a radio broadcast, and a pitiful hologram in a hotel suite as the bombs fell 200 years ago, while his lover’s skeleton lay outside the very vault that had been built to protect them both. Indeed, Piki Black and Jack Frost’s story had been one of the sadder tales of the past, that Pitch had ever come across.  
  
He began to fiddle with his Pipboy once more, and frowned when he in some of his other files found a message that he had looked at before. A series of numbers, coordinates from the looks of it, his designation as _'Courier Six’,_ and finally a name. _'Ulysses’_.  
  
He didn’t know why, but something about it _nagged_ him. He had checked the coordinates on one of his trips across the Mojave, and it had lead to an old canyon wreckage, which he knew also served as a kind of gateway between the Mojave, and the Divide. It was dangerous country, the kind you didn’t walk alone…  
  
But he somehow had the feeling that he might have to.   
  
_Not now_ , he thought to himself. While it had been a few weeks, he had not recovered fully from his ordeals in the Sierra Madre. And there were other things that took priorities as well, such as the trip to Black Mountain in the morning. With a frown, Pitch closed the message, and fiddled with the radio stations again, until he came across another radio station, the odd broadcast with the jazzy tunes he had first started to receive in Nipton.  
  
There was that as well. He remembered going there after the mess with the Legion in company with the sniper Boone from Novac, and how they had come across what had looked like some kind of satellite in the ancient Nipton drive-in theater. Boone had disliked it, making a comment about how it would probably blow any moment… and yet, just like the message with the coordinates, Pitch felt oddly drawn to it.   
  
When he felt more recovered, he decided, he would go to Nipton and examine the damn thing. Maybe he would bring Proto. He might appreciate being able to examine things that might be of use to the Followers of the Apocalypse.  
  
But that also meant, that he might have to fashion a proper weapon for Proto. While the Follower was good with melee weapons, he was absolute crap with guns. Perhaps some kind of laser might work for him? You didn’t have to fire too much with those, before your victim pretty much turned into ash.  
  
With that, he finally settled down over the worktable, and began to work, the soft tune of blues humming from his Pipboy.


	10. Prompt: Are you drunk?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on a patrol on Halloween, Bunnymund comes across a party of dark spirits. one of these spirits is Pitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt request from moiracolleenodell on tumblr o3o

It had been months since that near fatal Easter, and the Guardians had all been setting up new routines when it came to watching out for anything that might endanger children. The whole battle with Pitch had made them all aware of the possibility that it wouldn’t be enough to just passively be in ones homestead, when there could be other dangers out in the world.

Bunnymund was as a result taking his turn for patrols on Halloween, keeping an eye and ear out for any trouble there could possibly be, with one place in particular that was known as The Bloody Hollow by Co Galway. Due to its dark history, it was a place where darker spirits were naturally drawn to it, especially on days like Halloween when the Veil to the spirit world was particularly thin, and caused something to just spark in the older dark spirits.

Just as Bunnymund had predicted, there were plenty of dark spirits around, and while they were clearly enjoying themselves, they did not look like they were off to torment any humans anytime soon. They were more interested in throwing a party from the looks of it, and didn’t even seem to notice the Pooka as he moved at the edge of their festive grounds, that held so much dark history.

Bunny nearly tripped over Pitch when he had made it about halfway, having been so preoccupied and mystified by the festivities, that he hadn’t even noticed the other, who had been sitting on a rock of all things at the edge of the crowd. But then again, Pitch was pretty much camouflaged in the dark thank to his dark robes, and Bunnymund couldn’t help scoffing.

“I thought I might find you, Pitch!” He fumed. “Your kind always gets attracted t’ places like this. ‘Specially 'round this time o’ year.”  
  
Much to his surprise, he got a rather slurred giggle in response from the Boogeyman.

“W- we don’t ge’ _tractored_ …” Pitch half-muttered, as he didn’t even bother to look at the Pooka. “th’ humans don’ run tractors o'er here.”

Bunnymund scowled. Was the other making fun of his accent!?

“I said _'attracted!’_ That your kind is always _attracted_  to these places!” He fumed, then frowned when he noticed how Pitch wasn’t even paying attention. Hell, one would think that Pitch would at least be bloody alarmed when one of his hated enemies was right here! Instead, he seemed to be downright ignoring the Easter Bunny, while watching the ongoing festivities. On top of it, Bunny’s slightly irate correction only seemed to amuse Pitch more, as the darker spirit snorted, muttering something about _'opposites attract’_ or something, before he lifted up something that looked like a bone white cup and tried to take a sip at it. He stopped however, and honestly pouted at it before muttering about it being _'empty again.’_

 _Wait,_ Bunny thought. _Could it really be possible that Pitch…?_

“Are you _drunk!?_ ” Bunny exclaimed at that, and then yelped when Pitch made a slightly alarming swaying and then let himself fall to the side. It was more instinct than anything that made the Guardian quickly move forward and catch Pitch before he could hit the ground, though he grimaced at himself when he realized what he had done.

On top of it, Pitch had the audacity to begin giggling again, before it tapered off into a sleepy hum as he of all things nuzzled into the Pooka’s chest.  
“ _Mmm sofffft.._.” The Boogeyman mumbled drowsily, before falling silent. It only took five seconds for Bunny to realize that Pitch had pretty much dozed off in his arms.

“Oh _crikey…_ ” He muttered, looking around to see if any of the other dark spirits would take offense. Judging from how the merriments kept going however, no one was even paying attention.

Well, at least a sleeping Pitch wasn’t going to cause trouble any time soon.


	11. The-ink-addiction's Gatekeeper verse: What the Tsar wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> : Tsar Apollo Lunanoff knows what he wants. This doesn’t mean he can just get it, which he learns the hard way from Lady Pitchiner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little fic I’ve been working on for the-ink-addiction who let me borrow her Tsar Lunanoff facing off against my Ebony Pitchiner o3o I hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing this XD

Lady Ebony Pitchiner was a beautiful woman, there was no question about that. She was petite but elegant, and while she possessed no magic, she made up for it with pure stubbornness, beauty and a razorsharp wit and intelligence. Tsar Apollo Lunanoff had seen her verbally cut down plenty of aristocrats, who believed themselves above her and her darling husband Kozmotis.

Ah Kozmotis, his _fine_ Golden General. You wouldn’t think he was what he was, when you got to know him in person. The man had been born in a mining colony, had become a soldier and then… well, they said he had met his wife, and she had chiseled away the rough surface and brought out the rich ore within that was everything of Kozmotis Pitchiner. Roughly hewn, scarred, battleworn, but also an excellent strategist and diplomat with a silver tongue.

Apollo was not afraid to admit that he had fantasies about that tongue and putting it to good use on something other than diplomacy.

It was always strangely amusing in a way to watch Ebony and Kozmotis, especially during grand events such as some of the Galas that they occasionally had to attend. They were almost like actors, putting on masks for the public that rarely revealed their true feelings, unless it was someone familiar, while in private or smaller gatherings, they were sometimes a bit more open.

That Lady Pitchiner was much shorter than her husband only made it even more amusing, even though Apollo doubted others would see the humor in his observations. There was just something about the way that tiny woman could either charm a crowd with her knowledge, or shoot them down with her whipcrack wit.

Lady Pitchiner always kept herself closed around the Tsar however. She was polite and calm, but she never let herself be alone with him. Perhaps her husband had warned her of the Tsars flirtatious, and often demanding and impulsive nature, or perhaps she was paranoid about the by now legendary Moon Madness that reigned supreme through the Tsars bloodline. Perhaps a part of her felt sorry for them all, as Apollo knew for a fact, that she was always gentle when it came to his ball and chain of a wife.  

He knew the Pitchiners were adventurous in several ways, and his sharp ears had heard the servants tittering amongst themselves, of how the Pitchiners would sometimes sneak off at parties, and find an empty bedroom. He certainly wouldn’t mind if they were to invite him along sometime.

 _Stars,_ but he wanted that woman. Her and her prized war stallion of a husband. And he was quite certain that if he got a proper chance to speak with her in private, the Lady Pitchiner would be more agreeable.

———–

He decided to take the chance at one of the more casual gatherings that the nobility was so very fond of. A council member of the Taurus constellation was holding a lavish dinner and of course the Pitchiners and the Lunanoffs were invited. Everyone bowed and scraped when the Tsar was introduced, and then the guests were seated.

It was one of those dinners where several courses were served over several hours, all of them small and rather light so they weren’t too filling. And if the guests did feel full, they simply left the table for a bit for some of the entertainment going around. At the table itself was a light music being played, while the council member had offered access to his gardens outside if his guests wanted some fresh air.

Lady Pitchiner went for such an option at one point, murmuring something to her husband, who nodded to her before she left.

Apollo on his part pretended to be invested in a conversation between a couple of the other guests, before he excused himself as well a few moments later.

It wasn’t difficult to spot her when he got outside. She had moved down one of the paths towards the center of the garden, which lead to a fountain, the crown jewel of the entire place. The figure itself was of a triumphant looking woman, her arms raised above her in a welcoming gesture. Water cascaded slowly from small pipes under her eyes and from under her hair and the center of her chest, giving the illusion that while the woman was discreetly clad in water, she was also weeping. Whether it was from joy or some other reason, one could only guess.

Ebony seemed to be trying to make that guess on her part, as she had gotten to the fountain when Apollo reached her. She was sitting on the edge and looking up at the statue, her own expression thoughtful, but also peaceful.

 _Ah, but she is lovely._ Apollo thought. He could understand why Kozmotis had fallen for her, if his attraction had been based on looks alone. She wasn’t a sickly pale creature like many of the nobility looked. Her hair was black with a raven wings shine, and her skin a healthy olive tone, like someone who often worked in the sun. And her eyes, when not guarded, were a warm brown that reminded Apollo of the healthy, brown soil that some of the plants of the royal gardens required. A good color for a healthy woman like her.

” _Stars shine_ , Lady Pitchiner.” He called out to her and withheld a sigh when he watched her turn her head in his direction, recognize the sight of him and her warm brown eyes turned hard and guarded once more. Ah well.

” _Light speaks_ , Tsar Lunanoff.” Ebony replied, watching him as he approached her.

“A lovely dinner we have had so far, yes?” Apollo asked, standing casually with his hands behind his back. “Albeit a bit boring.”

She watched him with a raised brow, her expression guarded but also a bit skeptical. “I have found the entertainment rather pleasant myself, my Tsar.” She replied. “I am sorry that it is not to your liking.”

Apollo shrugged. “No need for apologies. It’s not you who are responsible for it. It’s just not to my taste, that is all.”

Ebony just responded with a hum, acknowledging his comment, but saying nothing otherwise. The two of them were silent for a while, with nothing but the gentle rush of water from the fountain to be heard, along with the faint music from the open doors leading to the dining area.

Apollo pursed his lips in thought, noting how Ebony was no longer watching him, but had turned her attention back to the surrounding gardens. “Kozmotis did not want to join you out here?” He asked.

“My husband was in the middle of a conversation.” She replied, her words polite, but with a guarded undertone. “I simply told him, that he could find me in the garden later.”

Husband. Apollo tried not to twitch at the word when it was mentioned in connection with Kozmotis, and especially when spoken by the… _Lady_ Pitchiner. He opted instead for what was supposed to be a charming grin, albeit a bit stiff.

“He does so like to talk with others. While you, Lady Pitchiner, do not seem as inclined.” He slowly said.

Ebony shrugged. “I am speaking with you, my Tsar.” She said, earning a snort from the other in wry amusement. She had a fair point.

At the same time however, he inwardly grimaced in frustration. He was not going to get anywhere like this. Perhaps, though, if he got her a little… _loosened up._

“There are other ways of exchanging words…” He replied, as he slowly and carefully approached her. ”I am certain you are familiar with some of them.”

The Lady frowned, watching Apollo with a guarded expression, as he came closer. ”I am afraid I do not quite follow, my Tsar.” She said politely. Apollo smirked at that, managing to get close enough to lightly caress his fingers along an exposed shoulder.

“I think you follow quite well. Considering how you and your husband enjoy sneaking off at the Galas…” He hummed. “Those… _private_ conversations hardly need a word, wouldn’t you say?”

Ebony had gone very still, probably reacting to the touch, but clearly also disliking how Apollo was in her personal space, speaking of things that were really none of his business.

“Those conversations are not meant for you, my Tsar. They are private for a reason.” She finally said, her tone calm but with a firmly hidden warning.

“Ah, but my dear Ebony…” Apollo bend over slightly, just enough so that he could reach up and gently brush a bit of hair from her ear, before he whispered:

“I think you would _enjoy_ if I got in on the conversation.”

Behind his back, the Tsar lightly snapped his fingers, igniting the spark of magic he had sent into her body.

It was suddenly very hard to breathe, and his throat hurt, and when Apollo staggered backwards he realized that the Lady Pitchiner had punched him right under his jaw. She was glaring at him furiously, her fists clenched as she breathed hard, quickly getting to her feet as the Tsar staggered backwards. His magic was clearly affecting her, that much was obvious, but Apollo could also tell that the woman was absolutely _furious!_

 _She punched me!_ He thought for a childish moment, while reaching up to touch where he had been hit, his breath wheezing in his lungs, and black spots dancing in his vision. Suddenly, the Lady was up and close, and in spite of her being a very petite size, Apollo found that she was also incredibly strong (or he was just that disoriented from the punch), as she grabbed him by the fabric of his outfit and used her own weight to yank him forward, tripping him so he lost his balance and got them both sent headfirst into the fountain.

The water was almost frigid, but mercifully clean, though it still stung to suddenly be inhaling it through your nose and mouth, as Apollo learned quickly (he found that he was learning a lot this evening). Ebony had him on his back, straddling him by his waist while keeping his upper body pinned under the water, her own clothes and hair completely drenched and her makeup running. (Apollo wondered idly for a moment how he himself must look at this moment. Not very godly, that was for certain).

She was snarling something, but he couldn’t hear her under the water. But he could guess that she must be _very_ upset.

She was also stunningly beautiful, and Apollo once again found himself understanding why Kozmotis had gotten married to this woman. She was as unpredictable as the weather, calm one moment and then turning into a furious storm the next… Or maybe that was just the roaring of the fountain water that made him think that.

As he mused this, Apollo suddenly realized that the Lady had disappeared. And there were hands, several in fact, now pulling him out of the water. The same hands were clapping him on the back, and it only took a moment for him to start coughing up all the water he had swallowed, before he was pulled out of the fountain.

The General was also there, holding his petite, fiery wife, who was just as soaked as Apollo felt, and glaring absolute murder at the Tsar. Kozmotis was holding her in a firm grip however, and when Apollo managed to look closer, he saw that the General was actually keeping her lifted off the ground.

The host of the party was babbling something, from the sound of it assuming that Ebony had attacked the Tsar completely unprovoked, though he was assuring Apollo that the Pitchiners, or at least the Lady herself, would never be allowed back after creating such a spectacle. After all, how **DARE** she touch the Good and Benevolent Tsar like she had, not to mention almost **_DROWN_** him!

Surprisingly, Apollo noticed, Kozmotis was giving him a look. It was not nearly as murderous as that of his wife, but there was something about it…

 _Oh._ His eyes said it all really.

Kozmotis was _angry!_ Not at his wife for attacking the Tsar, but clearly at Apollo because the other had done something that had warranted the attack on him by the Lady Pitchiner. For once, rather than being the obedient servant, Koz was actually mad at _Apollo!_

There was something strangely hilarious about that.

The councilman stopped his babbling when the Tsar Lunanoff suddenly began to chuckle. It was faint at first, but soon turned into a full out, half-choked guffawing, which only stopped because the Tsar’s throat was still rather sore from the punch it had received. Everyone else went completely still, even the Pitchiners, the both of them changing expressions slightly from angry to wary.

“Alright… let’s not be hasty.” Apollo managed, his voice sounding thin and strained. _Ow_ , the Lady had a mean fist, that much was certain. “I may have been… a bit of an oaf, towards the Lady Pitchiner.” He gave a slight bow in the direction of the Pitchiners, and he almost started laughing again when Ebony scowled at him.

“Really, it was my fault.” He continued, “and the Lady simply saw it fit to… _cool me off_. You know me, and my ’ _hot flashes’_ …” it was a bit of a rather brutal inside joke at the Constellation Court, that the Tsar had a litterally fiery temper some days, especially when the Moon Madness was toying with his mind and mood.

“So as you can see, there was no real attack as much as a necessary need to cool me down, before an accident could occur. Really, you should be _thanking_ her, rather than _scolding_ her.”

Judging from the rather befuddled look on the councilman’s face, he wasn’t certain whether he should be taking Apollo seriously or not. Good, let the mans braincells get some exercise for once.

“I am going home.” Apollo declared on his part. “General, you should be doing the same. Wouldn’t want your wife to catch a cold now, do we?” With those final words, he staggered off, followed only by a few anxious servants, and a rather nervous Selena.

Apollo had no idea what the Pitchiners would be doing when they got home, but he knew on his part, that he was going to get a healer to look at him, and then he was going to get drunk.

On the bright side, Apollo thought to himself in vague amusement, the Lady had not been aiming for the crown jewels. That could have ended rather badly.


	12. Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble I wrote... ehh, frikkin' ages ago. Was suffering from part book and part movie angst. Enjoy.

You don’t remember her face. The Fearlings won’t let you, letting that be your punishment for so long ago.

You remember other things about her, the feel of her soft hair between your fingers, the sound of her voice when she laughed… but the rest is a blur.

Was her skin as pale and fine as porcelain or as dark as freshly turned earth? Were her eyes blue, green or brown? Was her hair dark as a ravens wing or golden as sunlight?

You know there is a woman who says she was your daughter, but you see nothing of yourself or her mother in her.

~~Is she lying or are the Fearlings playing tricks with your memories?~~

Not even the woods you are walking in now provide an answer. The fearlings are probably making certain of that, crawling in your mind,

The woman… was she your wife or just a lover? A concubine or a favourite in a harem?  ~~You are not certain anymore. The Constellations seem like a distant, unpleasant dream these days.~~

Did you love her or was she just a means to having a child?

Her name…

What was-

Her name?

You stop when something drops down at sudden. There is a boy in front of you, dressed in blue and brown with hair a shock of white. He speaks to you, demanding to know why you are in this place. He is winter, you guess  ~~(remember?)~~  from the frost that covers the ground where he stands. But you…

Don’t

Remember 

The Fearlings are to thank for that. It is easier to forget ~~(I failed)~~ than to wallow ~~(I lost her)~~ in painful  ~~(I am alone)~~  memories.

~~(I am forgotten)~~

You look at the boy and can only think of one thing to say.

“Who are you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these are filled prompts, based on some requests I've done through my tumblr. If you ever feel like throwing something at me, you can feel free to request something. It might take a while before I get something written, but I'll give it a shot.


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